


Ain't No Therapy Session

by Alethia



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Boy can't make a choice so you run off and find someone who can? Gotta hand it to you, Veronica, that's screwed up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't No Therapy Session

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately after 2.20 "Look Who’s Stalking." Veronica POV. Originally posted [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/214553.html).

Veronica had no memory of getting to her car, no memory of driving, no memory of anything, blank as a canvas, staring at the way the light reflected off the windshield. If only that scene with Logan and Kendall would go away instead of flashing over and over again, Kendall’s fingers raking over Logan’s chest, his eyes that couldn’t be anything but hung over, the sheer horror of saying that and having him look at her like—

The tap made her jump, humiliating enough, but of all people to see it had to be _Weevil_. She opened her door, grudgingly getting out. It dimly occurred to her that she must have sat there for a while; all the muscles in her legs were stiff. She blinked at the sunlight; it was a beautiful May day, cool and clear, or it would be if she could get Kendall out of her mind, the slow stroke across Logan, nothing but taunting.

“Far as hang-outs go, Mars, this is a new one for you.” Weevil watched her oddly, eyes flicking her up and down before settling on her face, leaning against her car like they were best buds and this was any old chat.

Veronica bristled at his regard. “Stalking me?”

“Yeah, I have that kinda time.”

“And yet…” she gestured to his presence in proximity to her. It made him smile, brief.

“Didja take a look around? You’re on my turf, blondie.” Veronica did look, then, it finally clicking that she was at one of the numerous industrial sites—well known for being the hang-outs of PCHers and drug runners alike—and she had no memory of driving here.

That…was probably bad. Not that she could let Weevil in on that, not that she wanted anyone witnessing how screwed up everything had gotten, so time to turn the tables.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, sharp, surveying him as he’d done: cargos no jacket, casual. Relaxed.

He gestured a small circle with his hand. “Appreciating the post-modern architectural ambience.”

Something snapped in her, turning the confusion and horror of earlier to anger, hot and flashing before her eyes. “Why can’t any guy just say what he means?” Because they couldn’t, they got drunk and led girls on and then slept with step-moms because they couldn’t keep it in their pants.

And if they didn’t mean any of it, why did they go ahead and _say_ it in the first place?

Weevil looked taken aback for only an instant, something cunning taking its place just as quickly. “Aww, and I thought we had banter. Don’t go losin’ it now, Mars.” This smugly-superior grin spread slowly, like he was in control, and it made her want to take some of it from him, cut the only way she knew how.

“Why is Hector running the PCH?” Pointed and sharp and yeah, that did the trick.

She just hadn’t counted on him rolling with it, recovering so quickly.

Weevil shook his head, blinking at her change of subject. “Do you have a random question generator in your head or something?”

“We figured out that list and now you’re working in your garage while Hector takes the title of big man on campus.” She tilted her head, let him feel the implied indignity. Not that he seemed to care.

Weevil smirked. “It’d take a much _bigger_ man to take that title from me.”

She pulled on her Valley and brought a hand to her chest. “Oh, stop it. You’ll make me blush.”

“With all the stories I heard about you?” Weevil dropped his eyes again, roaming, and Veronica could practically _feel_ that look.

“And yet, big man can’t answer a question.”

Weevil nodded the point, shrugged. “‘Cause I saw their definition of loyalty and I’d rather have nothing than have that.”

And that was—that was him standing firm and resolute, not avoiding, not yielding. And he’d _saved_ the PCHers, he’d saved them after they’d betrayed him, _humiliated_ him, and he’d done it anyway…and then he’d let them go. It took some kind of strength to do that, beyond what she could imagine, and she didn’t know—she didn’t know what it took to get there, to just accept the nothing when the alternative was worse; she couldn’t see how much it took to do that—

She didn’t know how her hands had ended up fisted in his shirt, how her mouth landed on his, just that it did, just that he paused only an instant before he grabbed her back, dragging his mouth over hers, making her part her lips on a gasp.

His mouth crushed to hers and _yes_ , this was _it_. This was the simplicity she’d wanted, a molten rush of tongues and grasping hands, no corners to hide in or shadowy motives or avoiding what was too hard to accept. It was just hot, hurling headlong into an inferno and giving over to it, riding it until the feel of Weevil’s hands under her shirt seared it into her memory. This was being out of control but knowing and accepting that, controlling it like that.

Weevil pulled her in, pressing knowing fingers against her lower back as she clung to him, lips and tongue and teeth not demanding, but _owning_ , because demanding implied the possibility of rejection and he denied that this was anything but his to take.

A hand found her hair, tilted her head back, and Weevil’s mouth moved down her throat, teeth scraping and sending sparks everywhere, little flickers of feeling with every puffed breath, every wet slide against her skin, making Veronica shift and arch against him.

Then it was being turned, pressed into the hot metal of the car, even as his hot mouth found hers again, harder, if that were possible, _biting_ at her lips. Veronica let out a strangled moan, just small, just once, and it was enough, enough to have him shoving himself away from her, back two steps and watching, fire in his eyes.

His breathing was ragged, but it was _nothing_ compared to everything in his eyes. “So what’s this? Veronica Mars losin’ her shit?”

Veronica tried to catch her breath, mouth open—and what could she say? What do you say when your ex-boyfriend tells you your relationship is epic and then promptly sleeps with his friend’s step-mom? What do you say when your only solution is to jump a friend without thought, blown by the simple act of a man taking a stand?

Veronica felt a sting at her eyes and then Weevil was back, pressing her into the car again, fingers pressing into the hollows of her hips, breath brushing her lips. “Oh, no. None of that.”

He grabbed her chin and tilted it, kissing her again, hard, unyielding. Her arms went up, gripping his shoulders—weird that he wasn’t wearing a leather jacket—and let him take her away from it, even if it was just to thrust her into a different frying pan.

He pulled away again, but this time he stayed close, didn’t let her go.

“Didn’t know Veronica Mars had freak-outs.” His voice skated across her nerves, low and coiling around her, and she took a breath, getting only the scent of him and dust and a metal tang.

She laughed, short and bitter. “More than you’d think.”

“You usually jump on guys to make you feel better? Not than I’m complainin’, mind you, but it’d explain a lot.”

She shook her head, looking out over everything, not believing how her life could get to this. “Everything’s so messed up.”

Weevil pulled her closer, running a hand up and down her back. “Funny. I don’t feel a cross.”

_That_ brought her back to him and Veronica tensed, anger flaring again, moving to pull away, but he held her tight, leaning down to _lick_ at her lips, dirty and forceful and nothing anyone else had ever done.

He held her there, pulling back only enough to speak. “Uh-uh. You started it. I get to finish it.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“It is today, sweetheart. Now why don’t you tell Weevil what’s bothering you, leaving out the persecuted act.”

She grunted, squirming in his hold, but his grip was implacable, not painful, but she wasn’t going to move if he didn’t want her to.

She supposed this was all her fault. So what other choice was there than to fall back on old habits?

“Not sure I could afford your hourly rate.”

Weevil tipped them back into the car, hand moving up under her shirt again, making her gasp. “I’ll take it out in trade.” He fingered each little notch in her spine, pressing in and then around, stoking little trails of fire as he went.

“Can’t imagine what trade that would be since—”

He caught her mouth, tongue swirling in, tickling at the roof as she gasped, hands clenching on his shoulders as her entire body vibrated, just from that kiss, that kiss that didn’t treat her like glass, that didn’t put her on a pedestal or taste like desperation.

Weevil watched her collect herself, brown eyes taking everything and not letting her hide. This was why he was dangerous, right here. How did she ever think this was a good idea?

Not that thinking had been happening for a while, granted.

“You’re really good at runnin’ away, you know that?” He sounded almost impressed, definitely disbelieving, and Veronica had to protest.

“I am not.”

“I bet you were runnin’ away from something when you showed up here. What was it? Duncan’s MIA, so I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and choose Echolls. Not that there’s much difference. Prissy white boys all blur together after a while.”

Veronica stayed stubbornly silent.

“If not for present circumstances,” he punctuated it by dragging his fingernails down her back, making her close her eyes and breathe out, “I’d say you have really crappy taste in guys.”

“That’s assuming a lot about present circumstances,” she shot back, automatic.

She opened her eyes to his grin, starkly-lit by the sun above them. “No. It ain’t. But you wouldn’t know that.” There was something serious in that last statement, a darkness in his eyes that was all about heat and honesty and Veronica—didn’t know what to do with it.

So she looked away.

“And there it is again. Least you’re consistent. So what’d Echolls do, fuck some slut and you found out about it?”

She tensed and he felt it—not the usual sort of interrogation technique but he was certainly working it—chuckling lowly. “Really?”

Veronica felt the need to defend it, make it sound less like an episode of _One Tree Hill_. “He said some things.”

The sunlight glinted off of Weevil’s teeth. “Boy can’t make a choice so you run off and find someone who can? Gotta hand it to you, Veronica, that’s screwed up.”

She shifted, bringing his attention back to their position, back to how his hands held her, how hot it was between them. “I’m not the one holding someone against her car.”

“You grabbed me first. And you do realize that five minutes ago you were accusing me of murder.”

“Story of my life. Besides, you’re capable of murder.”

That got to him, making him clench his jaw and lean in close, eyes gone flat and serious. “I didn’t kill Thumper.”

Veronica smiled, sweet. “No, you just set him up. You’re totally in the clear.” The sarcasm lay thick across her tongue, but it only made him smile, tilt his head and lean into her ear, voice going low and deadly.

“Punishment fits the crime. Instead of cheating cheerleaders, it’s scheming murderers. What, don’t like people taking your lead and running with it?”

She tensed at the implication, denying it instinctively. “I’d never let it get that far.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he whispered in her ear. Then he pulled back, scrutinizing her. And this—this was what she hadn’t wanted. Weevil saw too much, figured out too much, and she still didn’t have a handle on…anything. “You know what I think? If you’re running away you _should_ be scared ‘cause it means you let them get control of you.”

“I’m not—”

“You _are_. You’re just a scared little girl afraid of getting hurt. Guess what? Everybody gets hurt. Deal with it.”

“That’s your answer: deal with it?”

“Hey, I’m no Dr. Drew. And you jumped on me over here.”

Veronica blinked…and laughed, dropping her head back against the car, tension just flowing out of her. This was all so ridiculous. She caught her breath, feeling the sun’s warmth on her skin, Weevil loosening his hold and just watching, something shuttered in his eyes.

“Is this another part of the freak-out or should I actually be worried?”

“Worry? Over me? Weevil, I’m touched.”

“Well, I’m touching you.”

He was, his hands still snug on her hips even if he had given her a little more room to breathe.

She sighed, looking out over the dirt and debris, the depressing browns, but without really seeing any of it. “I wish—” She stopped there. She, of all people, knew how useless it was to wish things were simpler, the way they used to be, whatever. She’d tried that with Duncan; it didn’t work.

“You’re gonna wish you had more of this, that’s for sure,” he said, smirking and flexing his hands.

“Somehow I think it’s gonna be the other way around, Mr. Big.”

Weevil pulled his head back, affecting disgust. “I just realized. I’m a notch in Veronica Mars’ belt.”

“Pretty sure it takes more than a few kisses to warrant a whole notch.”

“I’m an impression in Veronica Mars’ belt? A scrape? That’s just sad.” He shook his head, looking at his hands, squeezing minutely.

“Offend your masculine honor, does it?” The sun felt good on her, warm. A breeze blew between them, across her face, and she breathed in the feeling, even as his hands grounded her.

“Only fair that you let me earn that notch.” He shifted against her, the press of it bringing her back to where he _was_ touching her, letting her feel the hard lines of him against her, just how she was still pushed up against the car, how his body heat bled through his clothes, how strong his hands were on her hips.

She couldn’t help it; she straightened. And flushed.

The puff of air against her ear didn’t do anything to help, but the realization that he was laughing at her _did_.

Pushing him away was easy; he flowed with the motion, almost dancing back the few steps to separate them, eyes never leaving hers, some kind of knowing glint there.

“Offer stands, if you change your mind.”

“Wow, not so much handling rejection as denying it exists. That’s a new way of dealing.”

“Better than yours. Besides, there’d have to be some rejection first.” He started backing away, small smile somehow challenging in that way he could be.

She shook her head, eyes going heavenward for an instant. “My point.”

Weevil smiled wider, winked. “Come find me when this keeps you awake at night.” He gestured to the scene, between the two of them, hand moving in a lazy motion that was somehow distracting, shadow dancing in the dirt.

“There are far bigger things that keep me awake at night.”

“Yeah, can’t wait ‘til I’m one of ‘em.” He shook his head, once, smirked and rounded a corner or the nearest building. Veronica just stood there, thinking about what he’d said. Well, some of it, anyway.

It wasn’t—all off-base.

His car roaring out distracted her, and she watched him go, watched him raise a casual hand out the window, a brief acknowledgement. The breeze picked up, blowing a few wisps of her hair into her face, making her shiver even in the sunlight. The car door was hot to her touch.

No, he wasn’t all off-base.

***

Fin.


End file.
